Burthr
by DefineNormalitee
Summary: Sequel to Drottningu;; Arya has finally stopped resisting fate, and succumbed to her love for Eragon. But things are not always as sugar-coated as they appear at first to be... I know I said 350 reviews, but I couldn't wait any more .
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I went to the Jurassic Coast today – you know, the one with all the fossils and gems? Well, I covered myself in clay digging (hopelessly) for tiny bits of fossilized plants, until finally a brainwave hit me; doesn't that stone look a bit like a dragon's egg?**

**So instead of helping the way too excited paleontologists dig for bits of carbonized matter, I sat there and hoarded all these big, egg shaped rocks and glared at anyone who came near them.**

**But when I saw the geologists – with their big, thick glasses and trowels – looking at me like I was the crazy one, I thought it was time to go home. So here you go! A chapter!!**

Even if he were to strike Brisingr against his shield beside their ears, Eragon feared that the men of the Varden would not have twitched. It was for the same reason that he also apprehended that, were Saphira to scorch them all within that instant with her bright blue flame, they would not even bat an eyelid. Nor, should Galbatorix himself land before their eyes on his black dragon and obstruct the light of the golden sun, so bright and so clear on that fine day, would not cry out.

Those same men, gathered before their leader's tent, had been struck numb, deaf and dumb.

_Eragon. _The rider jumped at the melodic mental voice – so different in so many ways to Saphira's – touched his haunted mind; as he realised his mistake, Eragon grinned sheepishly – he was so unfamiliar to Arya's constant presence in his mind._ Have I turned green, or perhaps speckled blue, in the night?_

The rider frowned as he surveyed his love; her skin, he imagined, was as honey-coloured and unblemished as it had always been. Her hair, with brilliant golden orbs – bright shining as the sun – that glimmered before his eyes was as straight and sleek as it had always been. And her scent… a mixture of the deep scented pines of Ellesmera and the rich earth of Surda… was as bewitching and bewildering as it, too, had always been. The only thing that had changed, perhaps, was the soft hand gripping his with surprising intensity.

_No, love, not a thing._

Eragon watched the corners of the elf's heart-shaped mouth rise slightly despite her black mood. The dub never ceased to please her.

_Then why on earth do they stare so?_

At once, Eragon understood the cause of her concern; indeed, the people of the Varden were gawping at the couple so much – and so shamelessly - that he worried they might bore holes into them with their incessant gaze. And, worryingly, he also knew what she was about to say.

_Eragon…_

_No. _His voice was firm, but his tone loving and his gaze empathetic. _It is right. It is so, and it shall be so. It is time for them to accept this – and besides, even your mother gave us her blessing; if we can win over the heart of the legendary Islanzadi, what hope do those poor, unsuspecting people have?_

_You know that is not what I meant. And besides, she has yet to learn… what we are about to divulge. I fear that information may change her temperament somewhat._

The young rider sighed and nodded. He knew, in these confused times for the pair, that it was best not to go into the heart of the matter, and concentrated on her first statement; he wished to avoid an argument. _I do indeed. Do not worry; it shall be done soon. And then, maybe, we might take a flight to the lake._

_I'd like that._

The hand within his – so alien, and yet so true – gripped him. He squeezed it back.

"Cousin!"

The pair turned simultaneously to see Katrina hurrying towards them. As one person, the crowds began to disperse and drift away – although Eragon was sure he saw several men and women alike glare at him out of the corner of his eye as they passed his line of vision. He ignored them.

"Katrina," Arya greeted, her welcoming voice like silk to Eragon's craving ears. Yet he knew it well enough to detect the well-hidden hint of nervousness hidden behind the name. He squeezed her hand once more.

"Are you going to do it?" The red-head asked, demanding the information in a tone that connoted her single minded determination. "Really? Now?"

The pair looked at one another; Eragon's eyes glimmered with uncertainty, but his lover's shone bright and clear as emeralds. "Yes." Arya answered. Eragon's lips curled upwards in an involuntary smile – mirrored by both Katrina's, Arya's and Saphira's toothy dragon grin.

_Only once I had threatened to make sure Eragon could never have children if they delayed it any longer._

This time Eragon was the only one not laughing. Instead he glared at Saphira, Arya and Katrina in turn until they finally managed to transfer their laughs into amused coughs. With his dignity barely intact, the young rider turned to his love. "Coming?"

She immediately sobered.

"You'll be fine," Katrina gushed at once, seeing her anxiousness. "I promise."

To Eragon's immense surprise, Arya instantly brightened; her face lit up with a glorious smile. _I don't understand – I must have promised her that a thousand times, yet Katrina can say it just once and have that effect?_

_You are a man – our minds work differently to yours._

_Obviously._

With a squeeze of his hand and a worried smile, Arya lead Eragon into the crimson tent in which their awaiting leader reposed.

-x-

"Enter."

Eragon grimaced at the tone; tired, frustrated and upset, Nasuada was in no mood to hear their good news. Arya must have feared the same, as she gave his hand another encouraging grasp, but her face was as steel – her features were set in an expression of pure determination. For the first time, Eragon cursed his love and her strength. He glanced back towards the open air in which Katrina and Saphira waited nervously and longed to be alongside them.

_If only…_

Too soon, it seemed, the guards before Nasuada's tent had moved away and Arya was dragging him into the tent, her head held high and her face written with all the authority of fate itself.

Once more, Eragon found himself wishing he could turn back time; if only he could sit forever by the fire with Arya and Saphira at his side and Roran and Katrina before them…

"_Tell me again," Katrina demanded of the pair. Roran's shoulder she leant against as they bathed in the warmth of the log fire they had constructed on the mountainside; Saphira had flown them there two by two, and now they sat and watched the stars as Saphira ducked beneath the cool waters of the lake behind the line of trees to their left._

_Roran exchanged an amused glance with his cousin; Eragon had to look away, smirking. The women glared at them._

"_You tell me, then, Arya." _

_Arya grinned; Eragon was baffled, not for the first time, by the change that happened to the two – normally so practical – women whenever the subject came up; it was as if they had been hypnotized. With a glance at his equally dumbfounded cousin, the rider knew _

_that he was not alone in his confusion._

I love you, little one, but sometimes I fear that you shall never understand women.

So do I, Saphira. So do I.

"_Where did it happen?" _

"_Right…" Arya swiveled and pointed into the sky above the mountain. "Up there."_

"_Eragon!" Katrina squealed. "You are romantic, after all! I had almost lost all hope!" Eragon shot her a foul glare; she ignored it. Roran chuckled, and for once Eragon felt he had to join in; evenings like this - so pure and untainted by the worries of everyday life on the land below where their comrades bustled around like the ants Eragon had once watched, fascinated – were far too rare to dampen with ill feelings. The rider felt Saphira bristle with pride, once again, at how much he had matured._

"_We had a perfect view of the entire camp… and beyond." Arya smiled thoughtfully. "yes… It was romantic." _

_The pair exchanged amused looks._

"_But…" Roran spoke uncertainly for the first time in minutes. "What about Nienna? And Nasuada?"_

_Silence struck the group._

_What _about _Nasuada?_

"What is the meaning of your visit?"

The cold, hard voice of reality jolted Eragon from his dream-like trance and into the harsh glare of the woman behind him. The young rider had no choice; he was forced to look away. Although Nasuada was trying to eliminate her feelings for Eragon – to create a better atmosphere and less awkwardness for all involved – she was not making as much progress as he would have hoped.

_Give her time, _Saphira suggested gently. From her thoughts, Eragon was vaguely aware of Katrina demanding nervously to know what was going on. He smiled in spite of himself; while Nasuada took more time than he thought nessacery to deal with her conflicting emotions, Katrina had excelled gloriously in gaining the confidence and courage she needed once more. She was, he thought, twice what she had once been.

Behind him, he heard someone enter the tent – upon quickly examining the unknown person's consciousness, he found it to be Elva. The chill that he always got in the young girl's presence was followed quickly by a pang of unease; she was, as Saphira had once said, more likely to slit their throats than help them. He unconsciously guarded himself against her mind and pulled Arya closer to him.

"We come to…" Eragon faltered, looking once more at the violet-eyed girl. Her knowing smile and glaring gaze made him sure that she knew what he was about to say. "We come to… to speak with you, my lady…"

"That I see." Nasuada said, turning away from them to briskly stride towards her desk, and the chair behind it. Eragon let out a small sigh, glad of the momentary lapse of searing anger her gaze had burned under his skin. Elva's smile, out of the corner of his eye, widened. "But you have yet to say what about. Hurry, for I am a busy woman."

"That we know," Arya assured her hurriedly. "We have… something to tell you."

"Pray, tell me it is good news." Nasuada sighed wearily; for a moment Eragon thought he saw a ghost of a smile, and felt a pang of regret that he and Arya would be together the ones who had to remove it.

"Well…"

-x-

Nasuada had to stop her hands from shaking as she stepped up the rough, wooden steps. _Why me? _She wondered. _Why do I have to endure such heartache?_

Her father had once said that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all; he may have been right, for there was a certain wisdom about those words… but in that instant Nasuada knew that it was easy to make observations regarding love, but twice – _thrice _as hard to live them out.

And that, she thought with a sad pride, was true wisdom.

As she stood before the Varden, her hands lifted high and her mouth curled into a grimace of false happiness, Lady Nightstalker spoke the words that had broken her heart once again, not moments before:

"Eragon Shadeslayer is to be married."

**AN: Dun dun dunnnnn!!! I bet you're all really happy now :) Well, don't worry – it won't last long xP There's scandals, and more scandals, and then MORE scandals to come :)**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to two people (actually, that's a lie. Make it three. No, four… AHH! This is SO HARD! You guys have to stop being nice to me!!!) **

**ONE: Musings Of A Shaken Mind; I love you :)**

**TWO: .Weasley.757; your many reviews made me laugh. Thank you :)**

**THREE: LealFaithful; you're special. I love that too :P**

**FOUR: iNoticed; for the weirdest saying I've ever heard!!**

**In fact, let's have a competition – whoever can tell me the weirdest saying ever gets A PRIZE!!! (Yet to be decided :P)**

**LoveMuchly xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

"Eragon?"

He blinked. It wasn't the first time he had lost his train of thought since the night before, when he and Arya had publicly announced their engagement. It occupied his mind constantly – his very _essence _demanded his undivided attention on the matter. He wished – not for the first or last time, by a long chalk – that he could have kept it the way he and Arya had wanted it to be; with Nasuada's blessing, and a private ceremony on the mountainside with just the two of them, Roran, Katrina, Saphira and a few select villagers. But, as his liege had pointed out, there were many ways to win people's hearts, but only a few ways to make them happy. As it happened, apparently romance in the heart of a war-stricken land between an elf and a rider was one of them. _Who would have known? _

It didn't help, though, to remember that right at that moment, Arya was sat with Katrina and Angela in their tent, excitedly discussing what he was assured was going to be 'the wedding of the century'.

And it definitely didn't help that it was all anyone would talk about.

"Sorry," Eragon muttered, shaking his head like a wet dog might drain his fur of water. Horst, sat across from him, grinned knowingly.

"I _said, _when's the wedding?" Eragon winced – a movement that was, to Horst's growing amusement, fully visible to all around them and greeted by many chuckles and groans. The village of Carvahall took great glee in seeing Eragon so tortured, especially on a matter so romantic; never before had the young man expressed any interest in anyone in the village (to the disappointment, admittedly, of few) and had been watched by his elders with great interest. Now that he had finally made a step towards what they would call 'a respectable life', the news fell on intrigued ears. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know.

"I… I don't know…" Eragon admitted. His cheeks coloured, quickly. "I think Arya said something about… um…"

_Next spring, _Saphira assisted.

"Next spring," he finished, shooting Saphira a grateful look. Horst did not miss that, either, and rolled his eyes at Roran, who quickly coughed to disguise his sniggers. Eragon shot the two of them a dirty look, but to his horror the laughter only intensified.

If Horst had not chosen that moment to take pity on him, Eragon did not know what he would have done – only that it definitely involved jumping onto Saphira's back, kidnapping Arya and never going back to face them all again.

"Can I have a word with you, Eragon?" Horst asked. Eragon nodded instantly. He tried not to let his relief pass over his elf-like features.

"Of course."

They turned as one to glare at the surrounding villagers, who, with many a frustrated groan and irritated mutter, slowly disappeared, leaving Eragon and Horst alone in the blacksmith's makeshift forge. The young rider took a deep, relieved breath and slumped in his chair; it was a relief to be out of the public eye, at least for a short while.

"Doesn't seem real, does it?"

Eragon gave an agonized groan and shook his head. He buried his face in his hands, hoping that if he were to wait long enough, this day might suddenly vanish, never to be repeated. The blacksmith, who Eragon could hear striding around his temporary forge, working bellows and shoveling coals, chuckled.

"It won't go away, son. No matter how hard you wish."

"Are you sure?" Eragon replied desperately, peering up at the older man through a gap in-between his fingers. "Maybe I could test that. Give me a few more minutes of wishful thinking and I'm sure I could conjure something up."

This time, Saphira joined in with Horst's stifled laughter. The ground rumbled slightly beneath their feet as she laughed her dragon laugh. This only served to intensify Horst's mirth, and he doubled up over an anvil, gasping for breath; none of the villagers had ever heard a dragon laugh before, and it tickled them immensely. It had amused all to see Gertrude, such a practical, down to earth woman, doubled over laughing. Saphira was, in many respects, a brand new toy with which even the old and respected were fascinated with, and of course thrived on the attention.

_Honestly, Eragon, shall you never learn? _His sapphire dragon snickered.

"The drag- Saphira raises a good point," Horst rasped, wiping tears of mirth from his crinkled, dark eyes. "You cannot magic this away like a bruise or a cut; this is something you must meet, head on, until it comes to your terms." The blacksmith shook his head as he bent over a sword, the blade of which refused to lie flat. "Engaged to an elf. You know, Eragon, your family never ceases to amaze me."

Eragon chuckled, but still he could not keep the sigh from escaping his lips; with this new revelation – marriage – came a new outlook on his life. He had known that this day would come - when he would have to face his coming of age and do what every respectable villager did; _settle down. _The words left an odd taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable knot in his gut.

He hadn't expected it to happen this quickly.

It seemed only yesterday that he had met Arya; rescued her from Durza and spirited her away across the Hadarac Desert to the safety of the Varden. They had conversed only once in that time – during which she was deeply unconscious. It seemed an even shorter time still that he had realised that he loved her. No time at all had passed since Arya had told him how she felt, too.

And now he sat with friends and family, calmly discussing their wedding!

Horst left Eragon to collect his thoughts for several minutes. Finally he asked, "Do you miss him?"

Although Eragon thought he knew who the blacksmith was talking about, he replied; "who?"

"Brom." Those dark eyes, so deep all of a sudden, watched Eragon carefully. The young rider avoided the older man's gaze – although he feared his evasion had not gone unnoticed. "Roran told me about him being your father. I hope you don't mind."

"No." For once, it was true; Horst, Eragon realised, was as much a part of his family as Saphira or Roran – and twice as much as Murtagh. He did not mind at all that the blacksmith knew of his lineage, a fact which he had concealed from most of the other people in his life.

Horst nodded. "Well, Eragon Bromsson" – the dub pleased Eragon, warmed his heart in a way that he had thought impossible, and in a way that 'Shadeslayer' had decidedly not – "Call me insane – and don't lie, I know you have done on many occasions – but I think he would have been proud of you – today, and on all other days as well."

Tears sprung freely from Eragons eyes; never before did he feel he had truly appreciated how beautiful Surda was. Behind him, a low sniffling noise told him that he, too, was admiring the scenery, and he smiled.

_Men, _Saphira grumbled.

_Women, _Eragon shot back with a grin.

To that, the dragon had no answer.

-x-

Nasuada fitted an arrow expertly to her bow, achieving in her focused state of mind a speed that even some of her greatest warriors would admire. Just as quick, she lifted her loaded bow to eye level and aimed. The tendons in Nasuada's strong arm grew more and more prominent as she hauled the string, a strand of woven horse-hair that had served her well on many occasions, towards her ear.

_Thwang!_

All around her, men gasped, staring at their leader with new wonder as she, frustrated, brushed splinters and pieces of wood from the skirts of her lime green hunting dress.

_Barzul!_

The leader of the Varden looked, dismayed, at the fragments of the bow that had saved her life so many times which now littered the earth beneath her feet. That bow had been a gift from her father when she was just sixteen. The dwarves had showed her the best ways to preserve it, using beeswax to shine the frame and to prevent the rain from seeping into the wood. And now here it lay at her feet, destroyed by her own hand.

_Even the things we prize most are far too easy to destroy, _She thought bitterly as she stepped from the wreckage. Farica, her handmaid, hastened to follow her, along with the Nighthawks that had insisted upon following her on her trip to the training field. Lips barely concealing the unpleasant snarl that lurked behind them, Lady Nasuada moved at a pace that few could hope to rival.

One who did, though, was Farica.

"My lady," she gasped. "If I may be so bold… what happened? You seemed so at ease, but now I sense your mind is riddled with tensions and pain."

"Do not be fanciful, Farica," Nasuada snapped. She had never had cause to raise her voice on any matter they discussed, but today she felt she was – well, as tightly drawn as a bow, strung and ready to snap. She knew she would have to apologise later, but for now Nasuada was far too annoyed. It was, she reflected, not her day. "I was merely… shocked."

The handmaid withdrew into a respectful silence, leaving her lady to her thoughts. At once, Nasuada regretted her words. They were the truth, of course, but she shou;d have kept in mind what her father had once said; "it is not what one says that matters, but rather _how _they say it." But still, would it not have been shocking to all if the target at which they aimed suddenly took on the guise of their enemies' face?

Especially if that face was not of Galbatorix… but of one they had claimed to have forged a bond of friendship with? More than that – an alliance?

She felt as though the scarlet image of Arya's _perfect_ elven face would never fade from its devastating burn across her heart and mind.

"My lady! Halt!"

Lady Nightstalker skidded to a halt in the soft mud of autumn, her thoughts sent hurtling wildly into disarray. One by one, the Nighthawks thundered past her and into her crimson tent, only meters away; each of them wore a somber expression, but Nasuada knew them well enough to see the exasperation in the eyes of each man.

"Elva." Came the irritated voice of Captain Garven, emerging from his lady's tent and sheathing his sword. "She must have sneaked in whilst we were gone, my lady. Shall I remove her?"

Nasuada saw the eagerness in the eyes of her men, and shivered at the thought; sometimes she, too, had to remind herself that while Elva looked to be several years old, she must have been no older than two. It disturbed her too what the girl could do with her violet glare, but she knew that she, of all people, must rise above her discomfort.

"No," she called out, striding towards the tent opening. "I shall handle this. Thank you, captain… you may wait outside."

"My lady." The man inclined his head. With a nod to his men, they took their places with perfect unison, their heads held high. Not for the first time, Nasuada was struck by how lucky she was to be defended by such fine and honourable men.

Pushing aside the crimson fabric door that was her tents' only protection from the elements, Nasuada shuddered as she came face to face with Elva; the shocking knowledge hidden, just out of reach, within her eyes always both frightened and disgusted the leader of the Varden.

"Elva." She took a measured step backwards. "What can I help you-"

"You're tired." Elva pointed a pale finger at the bags beneath Nasuada's eyes. "You're tired because you're up all night, and you're up all night because of the pain. Unguarded, obliterating pain. You feel as if your heart will burst if you hide it any more." The girl paused, as if to allow Nasuada to deny the statements; when she did not, rather continuing to stare, dumbfounded, at the small girl, she continued with a bitter smile. "You've always considered heartbreak to be a fanciful term – most people do. They underestimate the power of true love. You did not expect to feel as though a part of you were actually, physically breaking… How much pain it can bring… so much pain…" The girl leant closer, as though about to divulge a great secret; "I can help you, Nasuada."

Nasuada fell backwards into a chair. Her tears shone like diamonds in her wide eyes, waiting for their cue to embed themselves in the undergrowth. Never before, she thought, had someone encapsulated so well what she felt. She had read a thousand love poems, heard a hundred songs performed that described this emotion, but never before had they

"The 'clinical' – healers, who do not understand the term - will advise you to dive into a deep period of self-evaluation and improvement. That will not work, for they do not understand you… your pain. The 'bitter' – the jilted lovers, the pain-filled rejected - will try and fire you up with general hatred for the opposite sex. That will not work, for they, too are oblivious. Finally, the 'optimists' – the _stupid - _will always tell you, 'don't worry – there are plenty more fish in the sea.' However, when the pain of a broken heart is ravaging your body any words of wisdom will seem like dangling a fish hook before a dragon's mouth. Useless."

A single tear dropped.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

A nod.

"Then listen to me, Nasuada, for your pain is my pain – it is so great, I cannot block it out." The girl's mouth twisted in silent agony before she managed to clamp it shut. When she spoke, it was through gritted teeth. "I can help you."

**AN: AHAHAAAA!!! I told you it wouldn't last long ;) REVIEWS, please!**

**Oh – I was asked why Arya would agree to marry – after all, it's not an elven custom. My answer is that it may not be an ELVEN custom, but it's a human one, and it's not all about Arya in this relationship, people ;)**

**Time for the naming; thank you to BookLovinWorm, who is AWESOME and the winner of my 'weirdest phrase' competition. I LOVE YOU! You win… um… what do you want? :P**

**Big hugs (and Saphira shaped cookies) to Elvendiath, Felixlee14, elvin blade, Alot Like Gregor, Musings of A Shaken Mind, xLilypadsx (I MISSED YOU!), for being my amazing reviewers on the first ever chapter of Burthr!!! EEP! THANK YOU!!**

**x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ask me, and I shall tell!**

**Wasn't it a little improbable for Nasuada to break the bow?**

**- You're either a man or have never been heartbroken before; when we women get angry, nothing is impossible!!**

Once again, Roran found himself standing before Lady Nightstalker, his head bowed low under the weight of her commands. He had always considered himself to be a valuable warrior, and was willing to do anything to protect those he loved – he would obliterate anyone that stood between him and Katrina, or threatened to harm her and his unborn child – but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cast off his brown robes and spend all eternity by his wife's side. This craving was so large, so sudden – not to mention unexplainable, although he experienced them often – that Roran had trouble convincing himself not to run from the crimson tent and snatch Katrina up in his arms. _I know what Katrina would say to that, _he reminded himself with a small grin. _She'd tell me to lay off the ale. Besides, she and Arya are hard at work. She'd chastise me if I interrupted for no reason._

"Are there any questions?"

He looked up, remembering with a jolt where he was; Nasuada did not seem at all herself today. Her eyes flickered almost every minute to the door, and her body seemed to be angled towards it. It was an indication of her distraction so small, Roran almost had trouble spotting it, but spot it he did. He frowned; what was so important that would divert Nasuada's attention from matters of such importance? She planned to move the Varden further north once more now that Feinster was no longer a threat – but if they were to do that, it would require their leader's undivided support and concentration. It worried Roran to realise that they did not have it. It was unlike her to allow her focus to slip so easily.

When he voiced his concerns – carefully, and with many a pensive pause to ensure that he did not cause offence – Nasuada simply stared at blankly him for a long minute. Roran met her eyes evenly, but allowing all of his concern and confusion to enter his watchful eyes. When that minute had passed, the Lady's gaze slipped. Roran released a breath that he did not remember having held. He did not speak but rather watched as Nasuada fell numbly into her chair.

"I am condemned."

This, of all things, had not been what Roran had expected; his surprise was so great that he felt Saphira stir within the deep confines of his mind – where she always lay, observing, in case he needed her. Her consciousness told him that Eragon had also noticed the change and was watching concernedly. He ignored them.

"My Lady, are you sure that you speak the truth?" he asked hesitantly. "You are by far the greatest leader that I have ever served beneath. What troubles you, my Lady? It cannot be that great, whatever it is."

"Does Eragon hate me?" Nasuada suddenly burst out. Her eyes burned into Roran's mind like hot coals, scorching away any doubt about what this conversation was about. Something deep within his mind told him that his next sentence would be very important; he thought deeply for several moments before answering her question carefully.

"He hates to think of you, for it causes him pain," Roran explained slowly. He heard Eragon, speaking as if from a great distance, tell him; _That's not going to be enough. Reassure her._ "He hates to think that he has caused you pain, my lady. It tortures him that you are so hurt." Eragon said nothing, but his cousin could feel the disappointment emanating from him. Roran cursed inwardly; he had managed to convince several hundred people to leave their homes and their livelihoods using mere words as his tools, and yet they failed him now?

Nasuada was silent all the while; even as Roran was desperately considering all the things that he could say that might bring some relief to the situation, she merely sat in her chair and stared blankly at the crimson walls of her cloth home, observing the way the soft chrysalis waves fluttered in the wind and fingering the lace that edged the cuff of her sleeve. Finally – when several minutes of awkward silence had dragged by – Nasuada spoke. Her voice was soft and regretful.

"My father would be ashamed."

Roran was not surprised to see a tear escape the boundaries of Nasuada's steel eyes and roll down the tense flesh of her rosy cheek; he misunderstood many things, but family… he comprehended perfectly.

"Listen to me." Nasuada turned her face further away from him so that the left side of her face were bathed in shadow. "I said, listen to me." With a hardly concealed sigh, she turned to face him. Roran was impressed; she managed to conceal most of the sorrow within her eyes. She truly was, he realised, a strong leader. The Varden were lucky. "Now, I did not know your father at all, but stories and songs of his greatness ring throughout the land – almost as much as they do of you. I know – I _know _– that he would be proud of you. We all are."

The woman before him seemed, suddenly, so much stronger; Roran's words had transformed her. No longer was she the shadow of her normal self. Eragon's gratitude flowed through his mind, wiping away every doubt he had with a momentary surge of appreciative energy.

_Thank you._

_It was my pleasure, brother._

_I'm just glad you're on our side._

Roran barely concealed a grin, and was about to reply to his cousin's remark when Nasuada looked up at him, demanding his attentions once again.

"Do you forgive me?"

_She isn't talking to me, _Roran realised with a jolt. Those dark eyes penetrated his very soul, leaving no room for doubt; she knew Eragon was there. Watching. Listening. And now, she spoke to him and only him. Eragon must have also noticed her intent, for when he spoke it was also to her and her alone. Roran echoed his words, humbled by the intensity of the emotions that his cousin poured into him.

"I forgive you. I wish with all the pieces of my being that we were one again."

Both of them watched anxiously as their leader paused; it seemed to the two men that the world had never stayed so still for so long. Then, finally, they exhaled a breath of relief as Nasuada nodded. The lines above her brow seemed to unfold themselves; even the dark bags beneath her eyes appeared lighter. Roran let out yet another relieved sigh as, with a wave of her graced hand, she dismissed him.

_Thank god that's over, _he thought, pushing his way hurriedly through the flaps of material that were the door – which, moments ago, had seemed as solid as a brick wall. _I would have rather fought the Ra'zac again than do that. _

_Don't be so dramatic, _his cousin thought bemusedly. _This is politics. Get used to it._

_THIS is politics? Mending the egos of disheartened leaders is politics? _Roran shook his head in disbelief. _I don't think I give you enough credit, Eragon._

_Hmm. I agree, but we can argue about that later. What did Nasuada want to speak to you about?_

All thoughts of Nasuada and her heartache were instantly driven from Roran's head; halfway through orienteering his way between an oxen-pulled cart and any number of large barrels outside of the chef's tent, he faltered. His head dipped as he considered the mission on which he had been assigned. The most dangerous yet. The most frightening.

Before he could hide his horror from Eragon, his cousin grasped the information by force and watched as the scene replayed itself over and over in Roran's memory. Eragon looked on in silent dismay as Nasuada spoke;

"Under the command of any other man, this mission would be suicide. I'm trusting you, Roran – this is crucial, do you understand? Good. If you are to fail, the Varden shall fall into disarray and our situation shall be irreparable…"

The rider released the memory without a word. Then, finally;

_What will you tell Katrina?  
_

-x-

"…and then Orik could sit here next to the ambassador…"

Arya gritted her teeth. She had known that she and Eragon faced several trials in the planning of their wedding, but never had she anticipated _this_. There seemed to be no end of obstacles; the Urgals could not sit at that table – with the dwarves – because the dwarves hated them; however, neither could the dwarves sit with the elves, for the frivolities would be marked irreparably by the arguments that would, undoubtedly, occur. But the elves could sit at that table – with the Urgals – couldn't they? No… no, the Urgals had never liked the elves. They distrusted their entire race and, as many of the Urgals would be drinking, Arya could not risk a feud…

It went on.

While Arya floundered and panicked (so unaccustomed as she was to the very idea of holding a wedding), Katrina was in her element; for all the elf's lack of practice, the human made up for it with hers. When questioned on this, the woman laughed gleefully; "I have done this many times. In Carvahall, I was in constant demand as a planner. I remember one year, I organized it for the younger children to climb up into the rafters where we had the ceremony and drop painted golden leaves on the couple as they walked down the aisle…" Katrina smiled wistfully for a few moments, transfixed on the warm, glowing embers of the past. Then, suddenly, she chuckled; "Little Tom Hance's father was so angry when he broke his leg, I hid in the chest at the end of my bed and didn't dare come out for a day…"

Arya massaged the back of her neck with her cool, slender fingers. The tension slowly disappeared under her firm hands, but at the back of her mind she knew that it would soon return; the stress only truly disappeared when Eragon was at her side. Yet again, she wondered where he was and why on earth it was taking him so long to get back from wherever it was that he had gone.

"Arya!"

The elf jumped, startled out of her reverie as Katrina snapped her fingers in her face. Arya smiled sheepishly, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry."

The other woman sat back in her chair with a disbelieving stare at the elf. "Were you even listening to me?"

"Um…"

Katrina shook her head. "I _said, _if we start the work now, we might be able to have enough flowers to put on every table, and the dress might be finished in time."

"What would I do without you, Katrina?" Arya smiled. "You seem to have no end of talents."

"What, like breaking little boy's legs?"

The pair were still laughing when they heard a timid voice from the entrance. "Um," the boy announced nervously. Arya wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Enter." Arya recognised Jarth, the son of the Varden's blacksmith Jon. She encouraged him with a friendly smile, which served only to make him more flustered.

"Um, I'm supposed to tell A-Arya that, um, Nasuada wants to talk to her in her tent… um…"

Katrina and Arya exchanged surprised looks. "Did she say what of?" Katrina enquired.

"No, only that she was to come as fast as she could…"

"Very well." Arya stood and nodded to the boy, who, with speed that Arya had thought impossible amongst humans, departed from the tent. "I shall return… soon…"

"That's if Nasuada doesn't murder you," Katrina joked, but Arya saw the worry in her eyes. With one last smile at her friend, the elf ducked out of the tent and into the cold autumn air.

The wind hit her face like an anvil as soon as she exited the tent; nodding to Jeod, who passed with any number of large scrolls perched awkwardly in his arms. She shivered, and drew her cloak closer to her thin frame. With the worrying feeling of stepping willingly into a deep abyss, Arya walked into the wind and to her fate.

**AN: gah! Sorry this took so long – I was really busy/disheartened by lack of reviews. I only hope that you all get the message and review this time, so I don't have to cry myself to sleep every night… *sniff*…**

**Friday the thirteenth yesterday! Anything bad happen to you? Do tell, my dears. I need the inspiration, lol!**

**This chapter goes out to Shadow-KissedKK; Good morning hon! Also, to BookLovinWorm – have a cookie :)**

**Loves, Arya x**


	4. Chapter 4

"Enter."

Arya took a deep, steadying breath as she swept carefully past the Nighthawks' deadly weapons and lethal, all-seeing eyes into their lady's ceaseless, intelligent gaze. The relief from the buffering wind was instant, but Arya hardly noticed it; her attention was immediately stolen from the respite and diverted to matters of much more importance. Her eyes, orbs of impermeable emerald light, scanned the dark-skinned woman with confused intensity.

There was, she thought, something different about Nasuada.

Perhaps it was the way she sat so straight and tall in her oaken chair, as she had not done for many weeks; there was a newfound pride in Nasuada's seating – or, rather, a pride that she had rediscovered after far too long an absence. Her chin was lifted higher than that of any other woman in the proximity, as if she had suddenly recovered her long-lost sense of importance and fulfillment that she had, until so recently, been lacking. Her eyes shone brightly, reflecting the gleam of leadership within her glistening soul. Yes... Nasuada had changed. What Arya did not know, however, was whether she had changed for the better.

"Ah, Arya," the woman smiled. Arya's suspicions instantly wavered; that smile was so warm, so genuine, that it could not be a false one. Could it? She was paranoid, she mused amusedly to herself. Years of training and continual conflict would do that to any elf.

Wouldn't they?

Oblivious to the elf's internal battles, Nasuada continued. "I am glad you came."

Arya found herself nodding - although whether in agreement or not, she was not sure. "Yes. I am glad too, my lady." Following a brief hesitation, she added; "and I might add, if it is fair, that I for one am glad to see you recovered from your... ill health."

The smile that followed Arya's words was, indeed, a real one; the woman before her bowed her head in what Arya knew could only be an authentic sign of her gratitude.

"It is fair. Thank you, Arya," Nasuada murmured. "I was, indeed, ill... although not, as I'm sure you know, of the body." She shook her head, sending locks of long, dark hair cascading over her back like a rippling pool cast in darkest shadow. "No. It was an illness of the heart that ailed me... But now, I am at peace. Eragon and I have exchanged word - indirectly - of our regret, and that I hope is far behind me. What only remains is for me to make peace... with you, Arya. Do you forgive me?"

The midnight haired elf paused.

_Do I?_

-x-

"Roran!" Katrina sang as her husband trudged folornly into their shared abode. Seeming not to notice his current depression, she launched herself at him with a silvery laugh. "I wish you wouldn't stay away for so long. Every time you do, my finger itches like crazy." As his wife laughed joyfully once again, Roran frowned and twisted the golden ring on his index finger uncomfortably. This gift from Eragon, he thought, was both a blessing and a curse.

Finally, his wife perceived his constant silence for what it was; an indication of his foul mood. Drawing backwards so that she might look her husband in the eye, Katrina spoke quietly in an entirely different tone; "What ails you, love? Why did it take you so long to return to me?" Roran grimaced, diverting his gaze from hers. Katrina, unwilling to let this topic fall, moved so that he had no choice but to look into her eyes - eyes that sparkled with the light of sheer determination. "Tell me." Her husband sighed.

"I... I took the longer route. I did not want to..." he shook his head with a frown. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he stood for several moments in silent contemplation. Katrina waited patiently. "I had things to... to think about."

"What things, love?" Katrina sighed as her lover turned away from her once more - this time directing his distressed glare to the indifferent grass beneath their feet. "Roran, you can tell me."

"I cannot!"

"You can, and you must!" For the first time that night, Katrina's voice failed to disguise her true impatience as it rang out, furiously loud. Taking several deep breaths, the woman continued in a much calmer tone. "You must. You are not on your own anymore, Roran Stronghammer." As his lips twitched slightly at the name, she grasped his arm and pulled it gently towards her; crossing hers over his, she made the symbol that they had made on their wedding day - the symbol of their unity. "We are one now. We were - we are - we _shall be_."

Katrina smiled as Roran lifted his eyes and met hers. The sadness in his eyes could not be so great that she could not force it, she thought lightly. Whatever it was, whatever troubled him, they would face it together. The thought stabled her; whatever happened, she would never leave his side, nor he hers.

"I am... I must go away." Roran sighed sadly; the shock and dismay in his love's eyes were precisely what he had expected. "Nasuada says it is crucial."

"Will you be in danger?"

Katrina's voice – leaping wisely to the one question he had prayed that she would not ask - was but a whisper. Roran ignored the implication in her tone when he answered only one part of her question.

"Every mission is dangerous."

"For a normal man - a man who is not as skilled as you in warfare and fighting - yes," she snapped impatiently. "Roran, answer me. Will it be dangerous for _you_?"

Roran could not meet her eyes; he focused instead on the chipped wooden frames of their humbled cloth home as he answered in a low whisper.

"Yes."

-x-

Arya stared at the patient leader of the Varden, humbled in the eyes of her powerful liege.

_Trapped!_ she thought bitterly - yet, it had to be said, there was a small hint of admiration hidden in that realization. _Trapped, drawn as I am to lies like a fly to honey! Yet again, I find myself maneuvered so easily that I do not realise how deep I am stuck until the final moment arrives_. _It was the same with my mother._ The elf regarded Nasuada with newfound suspicion, wonder... and respect. _The spider approaches._

"I forgive you, my lady-" _How could I not?_ Arya wondered resentfully. Nasuada smiled triumphantly. "-yet I cannot help but wonder what it is that you have done?"

As was per her intention, the smug smile faded quickly. "Surely you must have noticed, Arya," Nasuada spoke through gritted teeth. "I have not... that is to say, I did not... I have been unsupportive." The woman exhaled sharply. Arya's smile, this time, was the triumphant one. "I have not treated you with the honour and respect you deserve. For that, I apologise." Arya paused, wondering if her oh-so-cunning leader would think to mention the occasion quite recently during which she had tried - and nearly succeeded – in killing her. Nasuada did not speak again, but Arya saw the unspoken question in her face; _will you mention it? Dare you undermine my authority, elf? _Yes, the question was there… as bold as brass and plain for all to see. Arya answered it with a question of her own, tilting her head high and meeting, once more, the other woman's eyes. One thin eyebrow rose.

_Dare you predict me, human? Dare you make me your plaything?_

For several minutes, the two women stared blankly into one another's eyes; each daring the other to speak. Finally, Nasuada faltered; she looked away with a dissatisfied glare, which focused upon the earthen floor. "Begone with you," she spat. "I am weary, and have better things to do than indulge in pointless games. Good day."

"Good day," Arya murmured, turning on her heel quickly so as to not allow her pride to take advantage of her. She was not quick enough, however, and Nasuada perceived a small glimpse of the elf's deep seated satisfaction.

"Does your mother know?"

Arya froze.

"_What?"_

"I said, Arya Drottningu, does your mother know that you are betrothed?" Every word was enunciated perfectly, sharpened with a precision that Arya wondered at; each sound was a knife, expertly drawing from her the maximum amount of pain with each syllable. She turned again and did not move, staring blankly at the woman. Suddenly an image rushed to her head of a large, cunning spider, taunting its prey with its massive, bulbous eyes before going in for the kill. Nasuada continued, the smile on her face sweet and innocent. "It seems a shame to rob her of such… _excellent _news."

The elf shook her head, slowly and confusedly. "No… no, we have yet to break it to her. Eragon thought that we might contact her tonight and arrange a meeting…"

"Oh, but why do it over such a long distance?" Nasuada enquired harmlessly – yet there was a definite light in her eyes, Arya decided; a light that she was not sure she cared for. "It seems to me that the queen would love to see you in person, Arya – and Eragon and Saphira too."

"That would be… preferable," Arya spoke carefully, watching uncomfortably as the light flared dark and dangerously. _How are you benefitting from this? What will this achieve? Another trap?_

"I, of course, would be willing to give you leave…"

"Thank you."

"So it is arranged, then," Nasuada said, leaning back into her chair contentedly. "You shall leave… oh, the day after tomorrow? Is that convenient?"

"Of course." _Too convenient._

"Well then. Goodbye, Arya."

Arya left without another word. The confusion in her soul she was careful not to allow to slide onto her face.

The instant she had gone, Nasuada sighed and slouched into her hard, wooden chair. Guilt hit her, wave after wave… But still, it had to be done. They had to know… didn't they?

"What have we done, Elva?" Nasuada whispered agonizingly.

"The right thing, my lady."

_I hope so, _the woman thought desperately.

_I really, really hope so._

**AN: Dun dun DUUUUUUNNNN!!! Are you all freaked now? :P**

**REVIEW! PLEASE? Seriously, if I do not receive FIFTEEN REVIEWS – that's right – for this chapter, NO UPDATE!! **

**Sorry :( It's just that I spend hours – honestly, HOURS – trying to make these chapters awesome, trying to juggle 'Chester Mysteries' (a play I'm in) and learning several complicated piano pieces for my tiny music teacher alongside it. And how do you thank me? By no reviews. It's sad :( Pleaaaasseeee make a poor young girl happy?? :)**

**Arya xxxx**


	5. AN Importantness

**AN: Sorryyy, but I don't have the time to write ANYTHING this week (show etc) and I won't be updating til next week :)  
**

**Love you all for the awesome reviews,**

**Arya xxx**


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